2013.05.07 - Mistaken Identities
Mid-afternoon in the Bronx. Things have been quiet in the neighborhood for a little while, and of course that couldn't possibly remain. It's been months since the church, Old St. Anthony's exploded into bits.. and bits.. incurring loss of life and property. Now, however, while the anti-mutant sentiment is smoldering, the gang activity is beginning to rise. After all.. only a couple nights ago, one of the gangs lost 12 members in the span of 30 minutes or so. (Which hasn't yet hit the news.) As a result, one blames another who, in turn, blames yet another. Now, in the daylight, there is arms dealing. On a block that is so very gang owned, there is retribution to be paid, and it is blind, unfortunately. To make matters a little worse, the council for the borough is out and about, looking and shaking hands as elections for two seats are coming up in November! St. Anthony's is being rebuilt slowly, and of course, discussion regarding crime is all but ignored for that 'feel good' moment. One youth grins as a group of suits rounds the corner, turning around and not very subtly putting his gun down his pants.. and there are some others in the alcove of a doorway watching.. smiles creasing their faces. "I need a new intel guy..." Parked a safe distance from the council members/candidates, an immaculately-maintained vintage Indian motorcycle idles. The engine purrs loudly, but its voice is all but completely lost amid the noise and bustle going on all around it. From one of the handlebars, an ordinary black motorcycle helmet hangs by its chinstrap, mostly glistening aside from a few scratches and scuffs which it has acquired. The bike attracts the attention of the occasional bypasser, but it doesn't get nearly the amount of crowd notice that its owner does. Standing next to his idling bike, Wildcat stands in full costumed regalia. His posture is tense, and what can be seen of his eyes and face looks incredibly cranky. The reason for his discomfiture is obvious: a small black smartphone in one of his taped-up hands. "Stupid thing... which button do you push to show where the bad guys are?" He holds the smartphone up to his face and presses the map app. "Find the bad guys!" A robotic female voice answers "I've found three items which are pretty close to you." For a second, Wildcat looks as the choices expectantly. But his optimism quickly turns to a tantrum. "Bad Guys Bar and Grill!? GAAAAAH!!!" The phone is thrown against the asphalt, hard. "Guess I'll have to do my recon the good old-fashioned way." Among the council members who are waving and shaking hands is another public figure of note. The CEO of Hammer Industries has elected to join the elected officials on their tour of the neighborhood, promising to help revitalize the community through donations to build youth centers and other improvements to infrastructure. The outing, while very localized, is good practice if the man is actually going to make a run at campaigning for a public office. As the group of well-dressed men and women round the corner, Justin is talking with one of the councilmen to his left. A change of pace from his norm, Hammer actually has security with him today in the form of three large gentlemen in dark suits. After all, this isn't the best part of town and he isn't about to take chances. Smiling as he talks, the CEO doesn't notice the armed youth or any of his compatriots, relying on his security detail to do the watching for him. The Amazing Nightcrawler, otherwise known as Kurt Wagner, is present, though he keeps to the shadows.. a teleport here, a landing there.. and he comes out of an alley, a fedora upon his head, a light jacket on to keep the wind's chill away. Blue face, dark indigo hair peeks from the side of his hat.. and catching the sound of the bike, walks a little faster. He slows soon after, a touch of disappointment on his face, but it's nothing that remains long. Find the bad guys? "Excuse me, mein Herr.. but I would think it would depend upon your point of view," Kurt offers with a sly smile.. and he looks first to the pols before the youths with ill intent etched upon their faces. A motorcycle... A motorcycle? The last thing they'd heard was.. Wildcat is given a group stink-eye, and weapons come out almost immediately as two begin to saunter towards the man and the bike. And.. the blue dude. "Yo! Yo!! Dude with the bike.. step away.." and it looks like the one not talking is about to poke holes in the shiny, pretty Indian. "Where was you two nights ago, huh?" As for the detail with the pols? There's a glance at the movement of the youth, but.. there are reporters nearby, and the story isn't about crime, dammit! It's the revitalization of the area! One of Justin's men nods in the direction of the approach towards the bike, then eyes are shifted towards the waiting 'crowd' of young men who also look as if they're packing... "Ugh... Look pal, I don't know who called you, but the last thing that this potentially sensitive situation needs is the Creeper monkeying around and... oh. Sorry pal, thought you were somebody else." Wildcat looks down at the shattered piece of plastic and aluminum that used to be a phone. But rather than appearing remorseful for his actions, he kicks the hunk of junk further down the street, causing even more satisfying splintering sounds. Without even turning around, he seems to know that his bike is suddenly in danger. He rotates his head around to his right shoulder, allowing a peripheral glance at his ride. Immediately, the muscles in his fingers tighten, and two of the world's most legendary fists are formed. "Let's see... two nights ago I was beating up a bunch of kids who got too close to my bike. What's that thing they say about history repeating itself?" Justin tenses slightly as he picks up on the change of attitude in his security team. Now he actually looks around, and notices the bike, the shouting of the pair of kids, and the larger group of youths. His expression falls as he starts doubting his sanity for coming out on this trip, but he recovers quickly enough when one of the council folks taps him on the shoulder and introduces him to a local reporter. His over-the-top smile and demeanor returns as he addresses the female journalist, offering his hand and introducing himself. The Creeper? That sounded as if it had a capital 'C' attached to it. "Who?" Beat. "I think it is a case of mista-" Kurt is about ready to finish his response when the young toughs approach, and he turns to look at them. There is that moment when they pause for a second.. blue.. fuzzy face. Glowing yellow, pupil-less eyes. Dealing with that other guy is a whole lot easier, the gangbangers look to decide. "Ain't no history gonna repeat itself, bitch.." The word seems so universal now! "That bike.. bet it was used in some crime, and we are gonna take good care of it.." Beat. "An' you.." Like most stupid kids, there's no fear there. Not when he fully believes he's the hunter and the two guys by the bike are easy pickings. Unarmed, obviously means ripe. The second youth lifts his pistol now and looks all the world to twitch that trigger finger in order to put rounds through the gas tank. That shiny, carefully polished vintage gas tank. The youths near the doorway now begin to come out, stepping out into the sun, or rather, the cloud-obscured sunlight, obvious in their posturing that they're waiting for those first shots fired. The reporter now offers a broad smile and his hand, introducing both himself and his newspaper. "Kyle Burns. NY Post.. Mr. Hammer.. is it true that you're looking to invest in the neighborhood as a way to be able to win the smaller contracts of the city, working your way back into the fed's good graces for contracts?" Wildcat has reconnected. With a fluidity of motion that would seem ridiculous on most ninety year old men, Wildcat reaches across his bike and snatches the helmet from its dangling position on the handlebar. Although it's relatively lightweight (as are most motorcycle helmets), the helmet has just enough heft to make an impact when thrown discus-style directly into the would be gunman's abdomen. The sudden impact is enough to knock the wind out of someone. Staring the talker down, Wildcat's posture changes to that of an animal who is ready to pounce. "I guess you kids don't watch the history channel much. If you did, you'd know that no bike of Wildcat's has ever been used in 'some crime'. In fact, this bike here is the one I rode when I had to stop El Diablo Robotico." He suddenly looks very satisfied with himself. "You must have heard about the time the Devil built a robot, right?" The CEO turns his attention to Kyle from the New York Post. Good, the press is loving this, and Justin's nervousness about the approaching kids and the shouting are soon pushed from his mind. After all, that's why he brought along the goon squad, it's their job to keep things safe so he can give good sound bytes and get his picture in the paper. Shaking Kyle's hand, Hammer responds with his usual semi-cocky attitude. "Pleasure's mine, Mr. Burns. And while there's a business purpose behind this, my real concern is for this community and helping to restore it to it's former glory." The reporter has it right, the real purpose of this is all business and getting back into the government and public's good graces, but Hammer makes sure it sounds like he's doing this mostly out of the kindness of his heart. That's what people want to hear, isn't it? One of the security guards Justin has with him notices the growing confrontation in the alley, and the growing crowd of kids. He lays a hand on Justin's shoulder, and whispers that they should move on, but the CEO simply glares back at him and makes a quick motion of his hand that pretty clearly says 'back off'. The moment the trigger finger begins its move, Wildcat makes his move to try to implant his helmet into the youth's abdomen. Might even hear a *crack* if one listens closely. Consider the wind knocked! As for Kurt, Wildcat will find himself talking to air as the blue elf wraps his tail around the young man's leg and is suddenly gone in a sharp *bamf* sound, leaving the smell of sulfur.. rotten eggs.. in his place. He reappears soon after on the side of a building in the alley, hanging the kid upside down with his tail. "That is not very polite.." Beat. Then comes an incredulous voice, the thick German accent quite obvious, "The Devil built a robot? Really?" The gang of kids now begin their approach, one out front, his hand on his gun, but it's still held to the side, stiffly. Now, the security truly does get a little more nervous.. .. and with good reason. Shots fired! The youth that is stalking forward, and had his gun to the side raises it and begins to shoot. The disappearing act completely cements the idea that Wildcat is dealing with someone other than The Creeper. The sound of a deep chuckle can be heard. "Nah... of course he didn't build a robot. But nobody is impressed by stories about Rag Doll or Sportsmaster anymore. I blame Michael Bay." The spry old man leaps clear over his motorcycle, crouching between it and the approaching mob of ragamuffins. "If you kids are that eager for a paddlin', come and get one. I drank a whole pot of green tea this morning with my egg whites!" As battle cries go, it could probably use some work. But Wildcat doesn't really seem like the sort of hero that would have a battle cry. Instead, his tone remains conversational even with the threat of gunfire. Most irksome to the youths, he seems more bemused than anything else with their antics. The security grunt may have backed off the first time when Justin dismissed him, but with a firearm visible he wasn't about to drop it this time. Again he tries to get the CEO's attention, but before Hammer can snap at him a second time there's a shot. That's more than enough to cut off Justin mid-sentence, and the man ducks visibly at the loud crack. All three of the security guards pull their weapons, .40 caliber H&K USP semi-automatics, and brace for a fight. Wildcat's war-cry draws the attention of one of them, and one of the security grunts levels his pistol on the hero in the chaos. "I wouldn't have put it past him.." Kurt mumbles, and shakes the youth with his tail, dropping him from a height of about ten feet. On his head. When the gunshots go off in earnest, however, Kurt is on the move once again, the older gent's.. battle cry taking him somewhat aback. "Mein Gott.. mein Herr.." comes as he reappears before the elder hero, in front of that lovely vintage bike as well. "They have.." and he disappears once again as a bullet tracks by, reappearing on top of one of the other youths that is racing up to serve as backup for the stalking, approaching youth, pushing him to the ground. Now, the approaching youth levels his pistol now at Wildcat, his voice rising, "Come at me man.. c'mon.." Guns pointing at him from multiple directions. Now would be a great time to be a teleporter. Wildcat doesn't seem especially worried, even though one of the guns is held by a highly-trained security guy. However, he's obviously keeping his head on a swivel. "Guess it's time to break out some capoeira." He immediately drops into a modified push-up position and then launches himself up into a sidways handstand. A quick half-twirl and a handspring later, and he's behind the undoubtedly bewildered youth, and has placed the youth between himself and the barrel of the security guard's gun. "And... haymaker!" An over the shoulder punch is thrown, right at the temple of the young man's head. As his target crumples, Wildcat catches him and pulls him back further into the alley, away from the politicians (and their detail). Realization hits the security staff pretty quickly. There's at least one hero here, and the teleporting... man? who just took one of the gangbangers down are obviously not after the council people or the CEO. That leaves them clear to get those folks out of the situation. The security guard who had his weapon trained on Wildcat quickly lowers his weapon and turns his attention to getting the civilians out of the line of fire. Orders are shouted between the three security staffers that Hammer brought with him, and the suits are quickly herded toward a nearby storefront and potential shelter. Justin doesn't protest at being told to move, doing as he's told without question. Yes, he's a weapon's expert, but he doesn't have any actual combat experience and doesn't make any effort to pull his own concealed weapon and add to the situation. The reporters are scattering, including Mr. Kyle Burns. The councilmen and women are also beginning to make a run back around the corner they'd come, some dialing 9-1-1 in order to get police aid. Of course, this particular neighborhood isn't one where the men in blue are keen to visit. The security detail are a little more up, as they've identified the problems, and are beginning to move their 'package' from the scene. Big boss pays them to do just what they're doing.. but maybe there'll be a Christmas bonus at the end of the year? Kurt's landed on one, pushing the lad's face into the sidewalk, taking the gun away before he looks up and teleports out, landing high on the side of a building, partially obscured by the building's shade. He'll be departing very soon. Wildcat, well.. the crime fighter certainly has the moves! Dusting off the moves allows the hero more than enough time to get the lad's attention, and before the thug can squeeze off another couple of rounds (before he has an empty gun!), Wildcat is on him like, well.. a wildcat. He tries to take the blow that he can see coming, but it's one of those moments where time goes so slowly, yet in the blink of an eye, the kid is down. Hard.. and the gun is skittering away. Those behind him, well.. they're backing up again, and are more than happy to beat feet down a side alley, making a few fewer targets by the end of the melee.. Category:Log